Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL) Chapter 201: Chapter 196: Emotional Warfare (1)

Before Gabriel could answer, the door creaked open again.

"Forgive the interruption—" Edward’s voice ca smoothly from the threshold.

And then he stopped.

Dead in his tracks.

His gaze fell instantly to the poster on the table, and sothing rare flickered behind his eyes. Not just concern.

Panic.

Edward never panicked.

Gabriel sat up straighter. "Edward?"

Edward strode forward, uncharacteristically fast, snatching the scroll and unrolling it fully. His gloved hands trembled slightly as he took it in.

"Oh no," he muttered. "No, no, no—this is worse than the Elliot image."

Edward snapped, eyes still locked on the portrait. "But this—this isn’t slander. This is emotional warfare. This will break Damian’s restraint."

Gabriel frowned. "He doesn’t believe it. He knows—"

Edward turned toward him, and his voice was sharper than Gabriel had ever heard it. "It’s not about belief, Your Grace. It’s about reaction. And he won’t take kindly to seeing your face pressed next to hers like you’re reliving so tragic love affair."

Gabriel blinked. "He’ll be jealous?"

"He’ll be furious," Edward hissed. "Possessive, volatile, and extrely creative when he’s angry. We’re already managing the fallout from the Elliot forgery. Now this? This looks like you loved her first and chose him second."ƒгeewebnovёl_com

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "Wait. What do you an ’the Elliot forgery’?

Edward froze.

It was the briefest pause. Barely half a breath.

But for Edward, it was a crack in the porcelain.

Gabriel caught it instantly.

"Edward," he said again, slower now. "What forgery?"

Edward didn’t look at him. He rolled the scroll back up, his gloves smoothing the edges with too much precision. "It’s already being handled."

"That’s not an answer."

"No," Edward agreed, his voice like a lock sliding shut. "Because it’s not your burden right now. His Majesty will address it when the ti is right."

Gabriel stood from the divan despite the stiffness in his legs. "So there is sothing."

Alexandra crossed her arms. "Edward—"

"I said," Edward interrupted, eyes flicking up just enough to et Gabriel’s, "His Majesty will deal with it. Personally. And soon."

Gabriel studied him. "So whatever this is... Damian already knows."

"Yes."

"And he kept it from ."

Edward’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t speak.

"That’s a yes," Alexandra muttered.

Gabriel exhaled sharply through his nose. "Fine. Then we start with this lie." He pointed at the scroll.

"Well, Your Grace received an invitation to a tea party in two hours. From Crista. Mandatory."

Gabriel’s hand paused mid-air. "So she either knows about the rumors..." He glanced down at the scroll still gripped in Edward’s hands. "Or she wants a break from the Lyons."

Alexandra sank onto the armrest of a nearby chair, crossing one leg over the other with all the smug elegance of a marquess watching a court burn. "Why not both?"

Edward made no comnt, instead putting the scroll in his coat to report to Damian.

"She requested you specifically," he added. "And she made it known that should you refuse, she’d co here instead."

Gabriel paled. "I am not receiving Crista Lyon while half-naked and leaking alpha venom onto the divan."

"Good," Edward said mildly. "I’d prefer to keep my job."

"Don’t be dramatic," Gabriel sighed, rolling his eyes. "You’re unfireable, and you know it."

He turned to Alexandra, who was already lounging like this was better than her morning papers. "If you’re here, make yourself useful and help choose sothing comfortable and good enough for this disaster to wear."

Alexandra perked up, eyes gleaming. "Finally. I’ve been dying to get my hands on your wardrobe. Sothing tells ’post-rut lethargy’ isn’t exactly court-appropriate."

Gabriel shot her a look. "Sothing subtle. Not funereal. I’m still the Consort, not a scandal ghost."

"We’ll see what’s still unstained," she said sweetly, already heading for his dressing room.

Gabriel pointed lazily toward Edward. "And you... polish my rings."

Edward, already walking toward the tray by the hearth, didn’t even look back. "They were polished while you were still unconscious."

Gabriel blinked. "Honestly, I don’t want to know."

Edward, utterly unbothered, replied, "Good. Because you’d ask how, and then we’d have to have a conversation about technique, discretion, and shielding spells."

Gabriel groaned into his hands. "Why is my life like this?"

Alexandra erged from the wardrobe holding two coats—one dark violet, stiff with understated embroidery, the other a long, imperial black number with fitted shoulders and silver trim.

"Because you let a golden-eyed tyrant ruin your spine," she said brightly. "This one’s my pick." She held up the black one like a trophy. "Sharp, elegant, barely screams Don’t look at my scent glands."

Gabriel squinted at it. "Sothing lighter in color. I’m not in mourning, and I hate purple."

Alexandra gasped theatrically. "You wound . Where is your loyalty to von Jaunez colors?"

Gabriel raised a brow. "Left it sowhere between the second knot and the third ’you’re mine’ last night."

She made a disgusted noise. "Ugh. Please spare from your sexual life."

"I would, but you walked into it." He gestured loosely to the room. "Literally."

Alexandra made a face and picked up a comb from the vanity. "One day I’ll send you a schedule of when I’ll barge in. Maybe you’ll have ti to clean up your debauchery."

Gabriel snorted. "You think I schedule Damian’s rut? Please. That man descends like divine punishnt."

He stood slowly, stretching just enough to grimace at the pull in his lower back. "Choose sothing, maybe white. Not silk—I’d boil in it."

Alexandra raised a brow, unimpressed. "You’re lucky your mate didn’t rip the sheets and the political order last night. Stop complaining."

Gabriel arched a brow right back. "I’m not complaining. I’m strategizing. I would very much prefer to not deal with this now."

"You think I wanted to?" she scoffed. "I had three letters from my mother, two from the duchesses’ circle, and one very pointed note from Crista’s secretary before I even had my tea. You’re a trending topic."

Gabriel flopped back onto the divan with theatrical despair. "All I did was exist and let myself be claid by a man who thinks foreplay is a declaration of war. What deal do I have with the fantasies of young ladies?"

He threw a hand toward the ceiling as if appealing to the gods—or the ceiling molding, at least.

"Now, Edward, call Irina too. Let her learn."

Edward, adjusting the chain on Gabriel’s brooch, didn’t even blink. "You want the girl who once fainted because the Emperor looked at her to attend tea with Crista?"

Gabriel gave him a flat look. "She needs exposure. Consider it training. If she survives Crista, the court won’t scare her."

"She’s seventeen."

"She’s Blake-blooded," Alexandra muttered as she fastened Gabriel’s cuff. "Let her find her spine sooner rather than later. The palace isn’t a stage."

Gabriel stretched again with a dramatic groan. "Exactly. It’s a pressure cooker with florals and poisoned honey."

Edward exhaled. "Very well. I’ll have her summoned. But if she tries to curtsy into the hedge again, I’m sending you to recover her."

"I’ll bring a fan and a eulogy," Gabriel said, waving them both off. "Now let’s go. Let’s sip. Let’s survive."